What To Do
by smokypelt
Summary: Poor confused molly... And Sherlock! A Sherlolly story, following the events of season three. Molly thought she was over him. When he unexpectedly arrives back in London she realises that she's not after all. But she's engaged...
1. Chapter 1

**hi guys this is my first Sherlock story, being new to the fandom... It's a Sherlolly/Tolly story, following the events of season three. Also, I'm so sorry but I am nothing is currently on a hiatus... to be honest I don't know when I'll write it again...**

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><p>Molly sank down onto the armchair and considered bursting into tears. When Sherlock had appeared behind her at the hospital, it was possibly the best and worst moment of her entire life. On the one hand, she was incredibly happy that he was back. On the other, she hadn't thought she would ever see him again. She thought she was being hopeless, pining over someone who she wouldn't even speak to ever again. So she made it her lifetime ambition to get over him.<p>

It seemed like she had found the perfect distraction through Tom. She didn't love him, that would be Sherlock, but she did like him a lot, and she thought in time she might come to love him more than Sherlock. And Tom was a lot more probable than Sherlock. So she had accepted when he proposed to her. And at the time she convinced herself it was the right decision. Now she wasn't so sure. Now Sherlock was back, and with him came an infinite number of opportunities. But she was engaged, and would she really call off an engagement just to go back to attempting to but having no chance with Sherlock? She was so confused...

"Molly!" The front door open and shut; Tom was back. Molly groaned. She didn't really want to see him right now... Tom came bounding in, happy and blissfully ignorant. He reminded her a bit of a puppy, thought Molly... So different to Sherlock. As Tom ambled around the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea, Molly couldn't help but compare him to Sherlock. Tom was kind, Sherlock was not. Tom was caring, Sherlock was not. Sherlock was a sociopath... What was it about him that drew her in? Comparing them, Tom was the obvious choice. And, of course, Tom loved her, Sherlock did not. Well. He might... She remembered his words: "You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you." But no... He was just saying that because he needed help from her. It was wishful thinking, but... when he had said that, his eyes, ever fascinating, cold, unreadable... she looked into them. And she saw desperateness and vulnerability, and she saw in his eyes the truth behind his words. Or was she just imagining it? She was snapped out of her musings by Tom.

"Are you okay? You're acting a bit strange... I don't think you heard anything I just said!" The concern shone clear in his eyes.

"I'm fine."

"You know you can tell me anything and I won't be angry at all..."

Suddenly Molly felt upset by Tom's kindness. Here he was being all kind and concerned and here she was pining over someone else. At the very least, he deserved to know...

"Um, you know Sherlock?"

"Who?"

"The detective who was accused of being false?"

"The one who killed himself?"

"Yeah, him... Um, the thing is, I knew him..."

"Really? Wow! But... What's that got to do with anything?"

Molly took a deep breath and just let it all out.

"Well he's not actually dead, he faked his suicide with my help, I didn't think I would ever see him again but he's back."

Okay so maybe she didn't tell him everything, but she didn't think Tom would really want to hear about how she didn't really love him. She had already given him enough to think about.

"Wow... I understand why you're feeling emotional; he was probably a close friend of yours, if he asked you for help."

Molly could tell that Tom didn't really get why she would be so worked up just because a friend came back. Yes, it was in a sense back from the dead, but that shouldn't be such a big thing – she had known he was alive... It wasn't the best excuse for being so upset, but it was the truth, and Molly felt she owed him at least part of it. So she smiled and thanked him, although developed a cough and got up to drink some water when he tried to kiss her. She spent the rest of the evening pretending to have forgotten about it – laughing at his jokes, even making some of her own, and only at night in the safety of her bed did she let the tears slide down her cheeks.

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><p><strong>aw poor molly... You probably get from this that I like Tom... Wrong! I know it seems that way but I actually hate him! Not really his fault, although he does annoy me it's because I ship Sherlolly and it's obvious that Molly still loves him... Except she's engaged. So she's trying to get over him. And Sherlock does hint at liking her too... There's the obvious "one person I care about most in this world" remark, and the 'jealous?' Thing that pops up when Molly is examining the skeleton body... The only reason Tom is like this is because I was trying to make him the opposite of Sherlock.<strong>

**Drop a review! This will be a multichaptered story... just thought I'd mention! By the way don't expect regular updates! I mean, I won't leave you for, oh I don't know, a month or something (at least, not unless it's on a hiatus) but don't expect one every other day or anything... Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

Sherlock sat down and went to his mind palace. He has a lot of new memories to file away. He shifted through them, placing his reunions in different rooms, chuckling slightly as he recalled Mrs Hudson's over the top reaction. He momentarily considered deleting Lestrade's awkward hug, but then discarded the thought, instead shoving it into the simple but familiar room that was lestrade. Then he got to molly. Molly had smiled softly, and then pulled him into a suffocating hug similar to Lestrade's, except... Where Lestrade's hug was awkward and uncomfortable, molly's hug felt... nice. It was warm, soft, gentle... Sherlock liked it. Not that he would ever admit that, and he scolded himself for thinking like that. He had grown appreciative of molly since she helped him fake his death, but he was a sociopath after all; cold, calculating, no feelings... He wandered down the stairs and looked at the door. Turning the handle, he stepped inside. There were two parts to this room. The first was blue - a pale blue. There were shelves and cupboards, everything had it's place, he knew where everything was. DVDs filled one shelf, memories, long memories. It was a very useful room, and easy to concentrate in. Molly stood in the middle of the room, wearing her lab coat.

"Sherlock!" She exclaimed, looking delighted. "You're back! Did you want a coffee? Or a body? You can always ask me whenever you want something, remember."

"Thank you, Molly, but today I'm here for the back room. I've got a memory for it."

"Of course. Come on through."

He made his way to the other door in the side of the room. He took a key out of his pocket, and unlocked the door. This room was small. The walls were a deep, dark red, and the ceiling was purple. It was dark, the only light coming from a gently flickering fire. Two red velvet armchairs were placed in front of it. It was a beautiful, warm, cosy room. Sherlock turned to molly, who was shutting the door. Her shapeless lab coat had melted away, and was replaced by a beautifully patterned red jumper and dark blue jeans. Sherlock took the hug that he had shamefully so enjoyed, and wordlessly gave it to her. She took it, played it quickly in her head, and nodded. She knelt beside the fireplace, opened a chest, and put the memory inside. Sherlock caught a glimpse of a different memory, the one where he had kissed her at Christmas, before the chest was shut. Molly stood, and turned back to him.

"Did you want to talk?"

He nodded. "Thank you so much, molly. You never question me. When I asked you, 'if I wasn't everything you thought I was, everything I thought I was, would you still want to help me?' You didn't demand to know what I meant or what I was like anyone else would. You only said, 'what do you need?' You trusted me when you had no reason to, when nobody else did. And you will always count."

Molly's eyes shone sadly. "Oh, Sherlock. If only you could say that to my face."

Sherlock nodded sadly, turned, and walked out the room. Molly followed, her face face morphing from sad, comforting and caring to bright, cheerful and useful. She was wearing the lab coat.

"See you, Sherlock!"

"Goodbye, Molly Hooper..."

And he left his mind palace.

**drop a review! Thought I'd do Sherlock opinion, and maybe alternate between them?**

**Thanks to everyone who favourited, followed, or reviewed! **


	3. Chapter 3

**disclaimer, because I can't come up with one so I'm leaving it at that.**

Molly smiled weakly but stared vacantly at the wall somewhere behind Tom. He had said that they didn't spend enough time together, and had taken the day off work to spend with her, making molly feel obliged to do the same. Now she really wished she hadn't. When she was in the morgue, she was happy. She had a purpose. It was what she was good at, not to mention that the bodies made surprisingly good company. They listened, but didn't talk back. Unlike some people. She nodded and smiled again, aware that Tom was still talking, but not actually registering anything he said.

"Anyway, so how is your work going?" He asked. Molly brightened.

"Oh yes! It's been brilliant, actually! Yesterday I just felt really curious, so I did this experiment on this brain by dissecting it, and then mixed the blood with this mashed up kidney, and guess what I found?! It turns out..." She trailed off as she noticed Tom's trying-to-hide-it-but-failing disgusted expression. She sighed. Sherlock would've been interested. Sherlock would've appreciated her curiosity. But Sherlock wasn't the one she was spending the day with. Tom wasn't Sherlock, and she was just going to have to put up with that. She awkwardly cleared her throat, and motioned for him to carry on talking.

"So how's... Sherlock? And everyone else? I've really got to meet them, sometime."

Oh. Great. Tom wanted to meet Sherlock. THAT was something Molly could deal without. She didn't think Tom would particularly take kindly to being deduced, insulted, and then made to feel an idiot, as Sherlock did to everyone. Suddenly, her phone trilled. Molly jumped up, looking around for her phone. She recognised the sound – Sherlock. Tom picked up her phone and glanced at it, reading aloud: "I need to speak to you. It's important. SH." Tom looked up. "SH. Sherlock? Do you want me to text back and tell him you're busy? After all, we have both taken the day off, and –" "Gotta go! Sorry, Tom! Bye!" She quickly interrupted. She ignored the pang of guilt she felt as she saw Tom's hurt face, and hurried out the door.

Sherlock sighed. Without John, his work undoubtedly would go less smoothly. He needed an assistant... So he had asked Molly. Because... Without John, he was going to be so lonely, and... He thought that maybe it was time to... Tell Molly his feelings for her. He knew she loved him back, so nothing could go wrong. He laughed softly as he remembered the moment when he realised she liked him, at the Christmas party. It had troubled him for days afterwards, but fortunately John hadn't realised. He thought he was acting odd because of Irene Adler. As if. No, it was Molly that puzzled him... But better to let John believe that it was Irene Adler.

Suddenly he heard footsteps and Molly waked into the room.

"You asked to speak to me?" She said the statement as if it were a question. Sherlock smiled to himself. She was still as timid as ever...

" Yes," he said, turning around, "Molly, do you want to..."

"Have dinner?" She interrupted, at the same time as he said "Solve crimes?" He opened his mouth, startled, but no sound came out. They stared awkwardly at each other for a few seconds. _Go on_ his mind urged him. _This is your chance. Tell her you'd like to have dinner with her. Tell her how you feel. It's the best opportunity you're going to get! It's not hard! Just say 'we can do both, if you wish' and she'll say yes, because she's the one who mentioned dinner in the first place!_

Molly cursed her stupid tongue. She forgot - sherlock didn't know she was engaged, so he probably thought it was another pathetic attempt at asking him out, rather than what she really meant - just as friends. Well. That's what she told herself, in truth she momentarily forgot that Tom actually existed, and accidently asked him out. Now they just stood here, Sherlock looking brooding, as if he were contemplating something. Suddenly he cleared his throat, opened his mouth, and...

That was the moment sherlock spotted molly's engagement ring.

**I'm going to be following the storyline of canon Sherlock, which is why I'm making every single moment so big... Because once it's reached the end I'll have to wait until season four before I'll write more. So, do you think I should put chapters up as soon as I write them, or spread them out equally between now and December? Tell me in reviews.**

**Review, follow, fave, whatever! Although reviews are deeply appreciated. Hint hint. Not that I'm telling you to review, just expressing how much I love them. Hint hint hint hint. I once wrote a poem about the joy of getting reviews... Hint hint... Although that has absolutely nothing to do with this. Not at all. I'm just saying this for no reason. I'll shut up now. Review! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**so, since my exams are over and I'm officially in a summer holiday, I'm back for good!**

Sherlock's mind went blank. For the first time in his life, his words failed him. He didn't know what to say. John had his wife now, and he hated Sherlock. Lestrade was glad to have him back, but did have a life. Molly was... Molly was consistent. Molly would always be there, always be an option. She kept him going. But now, molly was gone, molly belonged to another. He couldn't rely on her help at all times any more. He couldn't need her any more. And he suddenly became mad, mad at molly, at Moriarty, because if he hasn't had to have faked his death Molly would continue loving him and he could make sure she never found another. He felt childishly as if he had been abandoned. And, in a sense, he had, because the one person who meant the most to him, who he meant the most to, had chosen another. He no longer had a chance with her.

"Could you give me a second? I just need to finish something." His voice came out forced, rusty, as if he hadn't used it in a long time. She nodded, thankful that he had dropped the topic of dinner, and sat down. Sherlock sat too, and closed his eyes.

He burst through the door.

"Sherlock! I didn't expect you back so soon! Are you okay?" Molly's worried face greeted him. He gritted his teeth, boiling with anger and disappointment, and pushed past her, throwing open the door to the back room.

"Sherlock, what are you– Sherlock!" Molly rushed after him. Sherlock grabbed hold of a bookshelf of memories, happy memories, including their first meeting, and pushed it over. The books tumbled to the ground, dust flying. He turned, kicking over a chair, and seized the chest, the chest of his dearest memories. Memories he'd wanted always to keep. But now, what was the point? Molly could never be his.

"Sherlock, don't!" He ignored the cries of molly, and threw it to the ground. It smashed, releasing the memories, and they flew into the air, quickly dissolving as Sherlock ran his hand through them.

"Sherlock. Stop. Now." The tone of Molly's voice made Sherlock stop. He turned to her, ashamed yet mutinous scowl on his face. She was much closer than expected.

"Oh, Sherlock... I'm sorry." She whispered, reaching up and cupping Sherlock's face with her hand, running her thumb across his cheekbones.

Just like that, his anger dissolved. He only felt horror at what he had done. He turned, and surveyed the room and the damage he had caused. Molly silently made a fist and then opened it, displaying in her hand his shattered memories. Sherlock nodded, sighing, and together with molly he pieced together the broken room.

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><p>Sherlock had a frighteningly pain filled expression. Molly was sat, watching him, and she didn't know what he was doing but whatever it was it wasn't nice. Sherlock looked murderous, and she flinched when he let out a growl. Quietly, she twiddled with her fingers, waiting for Sherlock to finish whatever he was doing. Looking around the apartment, she realised that she hadn't been there since Sherlock's "death". It was like returning home, familiar and comforting. She had missed it. When she glanced back at Sherlock, she was relieved to see that the scowl was gone. But the sadness remained.<p>

**hope you liked it! Please review, it fuels me! Without them I cannot write! **


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